


heart of gold and i will tell you (i love you)

by orphan_account



Category: Free!
Genre: Locker room smut, M/M, Tumblr: makoharufestival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[ The locker room echoes their kisses back to them, multiplies them twice, four times, and Haru takes a moment to breath, just a moment, before he surges forward again, licking into Makoto’s mouth and arching his body hard into his lover’s. ]</p>
<p>Haru wins a race -- and Makoto is there when it's over, waiting. (Entry for the <a href="http://makoharufestival.tumblr.com/">makoharufestival</a> @ tumblr.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	heart of gold and i will tell you (i love you)

He crushes Makoto into the wall. -- can’t help it, with adrenaline thundering through his blood, chest still heaving from the race, pool water streaming down his face. He kisses Makoto once, twice, four times, ten times, tastes euphoria and eucalyptus in his mouth, fists his hands into Makoto’s shirt and tugs.

“Haru -”

Makoto is warm and dry, his strong arms wrapping around his back, and all Haru can think of is how he wants to die with Makoto’s lips on his, just like this, how he wants to go with Makoto’s smile branded into his mouth, how he wants their kisses to follow him into their next life, and the one after that, until the universe runs out of time. He can open his mouth and swallow the sun, he thinks, and that heat would still feel lukewarm compared to the pounding in his chest, as he reaches up finally to wrap his arm around the back of Makoto’s neck and pull them even closer together, bodies pressed so close that he can feel the bones of Makoto’s ribs jutting into his chest, and still, it _isn’t close enough_.

“I won,” he gasps, and kisses Makoto again, “I won -- for you --”

“I knew you would, I knew it, Haru -- you won -- you looked great, coming out of the water like that --”

The locker room echoes their kisses back to them, multiplies them twice, four times, and Haru takes a moment to breath, just a moment, before he surges forward again, licking into Makoto’s mouth and arching his body hard into his lover’s. “I needed,” he breathes out, “to see your face, I looked for you in the stands, Makoto.”

He lifts the hem of Makoto’s shirt impatiently. Makoto doesn’t move, for a few moments, his head bowed low, messy hair falling into his eyes.

“Makoto?”

Makoto hugs him so tightly he thinks he is going to break, which is -- it’s ironic, because Haru always thinks it will be the other way around, some day, hopefully never (but he knows Makoto will have Those Days, the kind where the ocean haunts him from behind the back of his own mind and nothing will be able to pull him out).

“Sorry,” he hears, “sorry -- I’m sorry, Haru,” his voice thick and cracking, “I haven’t seen you swim like that for so long, it just --”

Haru hears history seeping out of that voice, and smells salt-chlorine-recently-lost-gum, himself and Makoto’s scent smeared all over his skin. He hears history of three months, stowed away in training camp, unable to lose himself in the water and just _drift_ , trying to make do with meager and unsatisfying phone calls, thumbing the head of his cock under the covers at night to the sound of Makoto’s stuttered breathing, coming in time with the rushed sigh rustling through his earbuds.

“I won’t --” he kisses Makoto’s shoulder -- “It’s not the same, without you there, without seeing your hand there -- I missed you, Makoto.”

“I missed you twice as much as that,” Makoto assures him, and shifts his arms so that Haru can tug his shirt over his head and fling it towards the bench. Haru makes a quiet noise of appreciation and presses his fingers gently into the lines of Makoto’s abs. Makoto’s skin is burning, too, or maybe he is just cold, shivering too hard from rapidly cooling water and excitement and the fierce, sweeping joy of seeing Makoto again. “And twice as much more every single day.”

Haru brushes Makoto’s bangs out of the way and takes a good look at his boyfriend, and the next time they kiss, it’s slower, sweeter, and he thinks he can feel tears on his face, but he doesn’t know whose tears they are. He lets Makoto take the lead, and it’s gentle, so soft that they are barely touching, but Makoto breathes in deep and full and _present_ , and it hits Haru again just how long it’s been.

“I’ll swim with you again,” he whispers against Makoto’s jaw, his voice strained. “I’ll always want to swim with you.”

Makoto’s hands wander down his back and over the curve of his ass and squeeze, causing their hips to meet. Haru startles.

“We don’t have that much time, right?” Makoto’s smiling again, faintly, his cheeks flushed pink and pretty, “before you have to go back out -- for awards and things --”

So Haru moves. He mouths along the column of Makoto’s throat and and licks his boyfriend's tender skin, grazes his teeth against every spot that he knows will break Makoto's constant stream of sound into little helpless gasps, and tighten the grip of his strong fingers into Haru's body. Feels -- feels Makoto hardening against him, with him, familiar, too, just the same as their last, hard-sweet-aching-lingering night together, before Haru slipped his house key under Makoto's pillow and left when the sun still burned red in the sky. He hopes he remembers what it is that will make Makoto forget everything else in the world.

“Ah, H-Haru, Haru,” Makoto goes, the pitch in his voice climbing, and Haru flicks his tongue over the sensitive nub of Makoto's nipple carefully before he decides that it's too slow, that they don't have enough time, so he curves his fingers into the waistband of Makoto's pants and drags down, drags everything down until there is nothing.

“There's -- stuff in my pocket,” Makoto whispers, mortified, when Haru raises an eyebrow.

Haru licks between his abs and around his cock, sinks to his knees and runs his tongue all the way from base to tip. He wants to open his mouth wide and swallow Makoto all the way, wants Makoto to feel how he makes his throat tighten. But for now Haru settles for slipping a slick finger into his lover, amazed at how incredibly tight Makoto is, even more amazed when Makoto murmurs that he can take two.

“Are you sure --”

“Do it, Haru,” Makoto moans, his back arching away from the wall, losing breath after breath as Haru continues relentlessly, “Haru -- f --- yeah, god, ok, I think -- one more,” and his voice breaks again, beautiful and breathy and hoarse, words coming like the tide rushing into the sand, in surges, punctuated with harsh breaths as Haru opens him up.

“I need to--” Haru says, his hand shaking as he pulls it out of Makoto to drag down his jammers and smear lube over his cock, “haven't for too long, fuck, Makoto --”

Seeing Makoto coming slowly undone in front of him is so surreal, throat exposed, spine arching as if through his ribs, his legs spread wide. Haru wishes he could take his time and mark his lover properly, carve his name over Makoto’s strong beating heart -- and he will, later, when they get home -- but for now he positions himself, looks Makoto in the eye (sees beautiful, beautiful green, stirring in its depths like the deepest pools of Niagara), and pushes in, all the way. It’s not steady or particularly slow; his movements are disjointed, the heat and tightness rushing to his head, swinging a curtain of black satin over his vision.

Makoto keens into the ceiling, splintered and bright like glass shards.

“Hold --” Haru chokes out, blinded, and it isn’t anything but a weak sound of pleasure, but Makoto understands anyway just like always, and nods, placing his arms over Haru’s shoulders, slinging his fingers together, and wraps his legs around Haru’s waist. The added weight of Makoto pushing tightly against him makes Haru gasp, again, his eyes sliding shut, his arms shaking to support. “--  ‘koto,” he says, sounding shaky and hoarse and fiercely emotional and nothing like himself, and Makoto’s breath parts the fluff of his bangs, and he _clenches_.

Haru thinks he’s going to come right then and there, blinking heavily to the feeling of Makoto burning his way around him, to the sight of Makoto’s cock leaking and slick against his stomach, and the pressure around his neck that is Makoto trying to keep himself afloat. He stumbles, flips them around to crash into the wall, inadvertently thrusting harshly into Makoto, who cries out and shifts against him.

They move, a little slowly, clumsy at first, learning and relearning each other, Haru picking out where to breathe, Makoto curving his body just a little further away so that he can take Haru in even more, their foreheads almost touching. It would be easier to bend Makoto over the bench and take him from behind, he knows - would be faster, if he could hurl himself into his boyfriend and reach around and jerk him just as ruthlessly, but Haru needs this, needs to be able to look up and see Makoto’s face, so close to his own, see the reddening along his cheekbones and forehead, and the softness of green eyes blurred and gaudy with pleasure.

Makoto makes the smallest of noises, the expression in his face shifting to something like determination, and his fingers bite into Haru’s back. Haru has a moment to inhale before Makoto is clenching his teeth with a stifled cry, fucking himself on Haru’s cock, and Haru can smell the chlorine still dripping from his hair along with the faintly orangey scent of their lubricant, and the musky smell of sex, and he knows it’s all Makoto, nothing else in the world exists at this point: not the wall pressing cold and sharp and plaster-like into the knobs of his spine, not the distant churning of the crowd outside, not the promise of a medal waiting for him. All he can feel is Makoto, his searing and beautiful haven opening himself up, taking him home, taking and taking and giving and giving, the way their hips buck together; all he can hear is the rhythmic, hard slapping of skin meeting skin, Makoto’s cries dancing up and down the steps of pitch in the most beautiful song he’s ever heard, the way his name falls in an ostinato, offered to the echoes and paid back in kind.

“Makoto --” Haru tries, it comes out high and feverish; he tightens his grip, the overwhelming and repeated surges of pleasure making his arms shake even harder. “Makoto -- let -- let me, fu--uuuck, let me,” his hands, not as large as his lover’s, but precise in their strength, stilling against the smoothness of Makoto’s skin. They’ll leave bruises all over each other, careless and reckless and messy, and Haru doesn’t care if the entire stadium were to troop into the locker room; he just needs Makoto to _know_ how much he’s missed him, how much he’s dreamed about the warmth of his skin and the softness of his hair, and how this wild and unrefined and frantic reunion doesn’t even come close to what he wants to give back.

Makoto breathes against his mouth -- they’ve ended up like this, mouths open and eyes wide, pouring out every audible demonstration of pleasure into each other -- and Haru braces himself, tells his sore and aching limbs to _keep up_ , and thrusts, methodic and hard and sharp, watching the way Makoto’s face changes from determined and sharp into something softer, looser, and there it is, that’s the expression Haru’s been searching for this whole time, the beautiful stillness that Makoto brings each time they do this, that thread of pure and silky green stringing them together.

“I missed you,” says Haru in a whisper, as Makoto’s moans soften around the edge as well, not so aggressive, not a torrent but a flow. “I love you -- I needed -- wanted to see you so bad,” and once the words come, they don’t stop, until he feels that pull in his stomach, pulling downwards, and Makoto’s eyes are so filled with love that they’re spilling over. Haru’s breath hitches and he presses their foreheads together, his eyes stinging as he comes with a rush, the fatigue catching up with him all at once and too fast.

Makoto has words, too, like the murmur of seashells along the beach, assurances that he loves Haru, too, ceaseless against Haru’s mouth, _I love you Haru **ka**_ , wraps his legs tighter around Haru as he spills pearly and white over his stomach, until Haru is falling -- falling -- slipping out slick and soft with his entire world wrapped around him.

 

*

 

“Haru,” Makoto whispers, “you’re shaking.”

“I know,” Haru replies. He continues shaking as they unwind from each other.

Makoto’s falling backwards, splayed out over the bench, streaked with white and still flushed, and his hand brushes across Haru’s cheek in what Haru thinks might be awe. “I’m so proud of you, Haru-chan,” he says, his voice the color of four-leaf clovers and young grass, “I knew you could do it.”

“I had to make it worth something,” Haru says, his chest heaving, throat dry and searing. He casts a glance towards the door, and then back to Makoto, who just smiles, and kisses him sweet and content, a poor substitute for what Haru really wants to do, which is tumble across Makoto’s broad chest until he regains his breath, until he can move properly again.

“Go on, Haru-chan,” Makoto tells him, understanding him in the way that always seizes his heart through his ribs to give it a friendly squeeze, “go get cleaned up,” -- Haru realizes dazedly that he’s not even fully naked, with his jammers shoved awkwardly halfway down his legs. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“I…”

“They’re waiting,” Makoto reminds him.

He wants to stay and bask in afterglow, wants to spend the next hour just gazing at Makoto, but he nods, and steps into the shower stall.

When he comes out clean, skin still flushed, starry-eyed with his towel draped over his head, he tells Makoto, “Next time -- next time, with you.” He lets Makoto paint every trace of victory over his face, and smiles as he steps out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> of course i would be that person who submits smut to this lovely fan event but -- if you enjoyed it, please give this piece a like or reblog at the [tumblr post](http://makoharufestival.tumblr.com/post/76252825286/challenge-i-needed-to-see-your-face) c: thank you for reading! & be sure to check out the other entries!


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